Flash Fiction: You Should Be Reading

The Painful Death

    One day, I died.

    It was an accident, but I died. It wasn't the boy next door who did it. It wasn't the mailman who comes by everyday except Sunday. It wasn't my mother or my father. It wasn't my younger brother.

    It was me. It was my fault.

    Just a small scratch. That is all I meant to put on my arm. A small scratch that changed into a large red sea. The thick waters flooded into the bathroom sink. My heart raced as I panicked. This wasn't suppose to happen.

    My own frightened, pale expression was the last thing I remembered. It is the last thing I'll ever remember because I died.

    I visit my house today. The familiar pale blue paint of my childhood. The peeling white paint on the railings on the patio. My father's red van sitting in the driveway. The purple petunias my mother just planted the day before.

    The screen door would creak everytime my brother or I would come barreling through it after school or during the summer. Now, it was silent. The house was silent as no joy could fit in. I walked by the living room, the television usually lively with Sunday football but now was dark with silence. My father was sitting there on the couch, staring at the black screen with no expression.

    I made my way upstairs to my brother's room. His guitar sat in the corner, begging to be played. Yet, he sat there on his bed without even looking at it. He could not play. He could only tell himself he could have done something more.

    My room was quiet but a soft sound could be heard. My mother sat there on my floor, tears falling down her face as she quietly sobbed. She held some of my belongings in her hands. My stuffed animal rabbit I received at birth. A picture of me and my family at an amusement park. My necklace I wore everyday from my grandfather.

    The bathroom was eerie, the usually white sink stained a slight ugly pink. It smelled strongly of cleaning utilities. Perhaps to clean up the mess I made yesterday. A mess that ruined everyone's lives in this house.

    I'm sorry I messed things up. I only meant to put a small scratch. I guess Death had a different agenda for me.

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    Suicide is a real matter. If you know someone who is suicidal, please contact someone for help. If you are too afraid to contact someone, have them read this. Suicide is not the answer. It may seemingly fix things for you, but it will hurt someone else in the end. Stay here with us. We are here for one another. We love you.~R.R.